One More Day With You
by TheLoyalMouse
Summary: Six years down the line: When Viktor learns that his days are numbered, there's only one thing on his mind: He needs to make sure that Yuuri will be okay. For this goal he's willing to sacrifice everything; his happiness, his sanity - even Yuuri's love. But that's not how relationships work, Vitya ... Or: The stupid things we do for love ...
1. Chapter One

"How long?"

Viktor swallows. His chest is painfully constricted and there's a throbbing ache behind his temples.

He can't look at the older man sitting across from him, clad in white scrubs that fit a little tight around his middle. Can't meet his eyes, knowing exactly what he will find once he does.

Pity.

Sympathy.

Instead he stares at his own hands lying folded in his lap like they're suddenly the most captivating thing he's ever seen. They look strange. Foreign. Like they don't belong to him at all.

"Five months," the man says, and at that Viktor does look up.

"F-Five …"

"Maybe a little less. I'm sincerely sorry, Mr. Nikiforov, but …"

Viktor gets up so quickly, his chair almost topples over. "It's fine," he chokes out. "Thank you. I will see myself out."

"Mr. Nikiforov, we should discuss possible …"

"No." Viktor shakes his head. "No, thank you very much. I'm good."

 _I'm good ..._

* * *

After leaving the medical practice, he's walking the streets of Hasetsu, his body moving on autopilot. He knows the town like the back of his hand by now; has been living here for the last five years, after all. People on the street keep passing him with little nods of silent acknowledgement. He knows most of them by sight, has spoken to some. His Japanese is still a little shaky, particularly when he's around strangers. It's not really like him to be shy like that, but maybe Yuuri has rubbed off on him a bit.

The thought of Yuuri pains him.

Five months, he recalls the doctor's words. Maybe even less.

He feels a strange numbness spreading through his body and he wonders if this is it, already. If this sensation is death permeating every cell, and it's only going to get worse until …

A laugh bubbles up in his throat, but what comes out sounds more like a strangled gasp. Tears are welling up in his eyes and he makes an abrupt turn to the left, through the entrance of a park. He doesn't want to be seen. Doesn't want the questions that will inevitably follow. For the same reason he can't go home. Not yet.

If he has to face Yuuri right now, he will see right through him. And Viktor can't do that. Neither to Yuuri nor to himself.

What he needs is a plan. Something he can hold on to. Something to keep his mind from eating itself.

Five months.

Five months.

Five.

Months.

He sits down on a bench. It's the exact same bench Yuuri and he would often sit on after endurance training.

Yuuri.

He buries his face in his hands. This wasn't how things were supposed to go be. They were meant to have at least thirty more happy years together - not that Viktor has never seriously given a possible end of their time on Earth together even a fleeting thought. People die. They do it all the time. But somehow Viktor never really thought it could happen to Yuuri or him.

Now, forced to face his own mortality, he realizes how stupid he was. There is no such thing as safety in this world; in this life. Everything you're granted can just as easily be taken away from you again.

 _I'm glad, it's going to be me ..._

The thought hits him with the force of a freight train. It's true. If one of them has to go, it'd better be him. Because he can't lose Yuuri. He just can't. And if that makes him selfish, he doesn't care. He's still human, after all. There's only so much he can take before breaking.

He sits there for awhile, surrounded by the sounds of nature; the rustling of the leaves, the cries of the seagulls. Every sound brings up new memories, good and bad, but mostly good. Very good. His life has been very good ever since he made the decision to pack his bags and fly to Japan.

Yuuri has changed everything for him; has made him a better man. Because Viktor is no fool. He knows that he isn't perfect, and was even less perfect before he met the love of his life. People used to put him on a pedestal, and he tried hard, so very hard, to be the cheerful, extroverted and outgoing person they expected him to be. But deep down he wasn't like that.

He was arrogant, slightly neglectful, bitter and cynical, and tried to hide it behind this big, toothy smile he never failed to conjure for the audience, the press.

He doesn't need all that for Yuuri, though. Viktor had been more than a bit worried about Yuuri kicking him out the moment he caught a glimpse behind that pretty facade. By now he knows that this isn't like Yuuri at all. He is kind and understanding, and even back then, when Viktor failed to meet his expectations; when he found out his hero wasn't a hero after all, he never left his side.

They are two sides of the same coin. Viktor can't even imagine a life without Yuuri anymore.

And he doesn't have to, either.

The bitter taste of bile fills his mouth.

He will never have to worry about anything, soon. Because there will be no _him_ to worry in the first place. He will be gone. Nonexistent. And there will be no one to take care of Yuuri the way he does.

Sure, he has his parents and Mari-chan. But it isn't the same. It just isn't the same.

He hears his cell chime with an incoming text message but doesn't move to retrieve the phone from his pocket; the mere thought of even moving so much as a muscle is more than he can stomach. But then Yuuri's worried face appears in front of his inner eye. He knows that Viktor had a doctor's appointment today, and most likely expects him to be home by now.

The message isn't from Yuuri.

Suddenly the knot his stomach has coiled into snaps open and for the first time in what feels like an eternity he can breathe freely.

He knows what to do now. It won't be easy.

But what in life ever is?


	2. Chapter Two

"Yurochka is going to come to Japan."

It's late in the evening and they're watching one of these stupid movies where you know from the start that everyone is going to get their happy ending. It's almost like a ritual for them, by now. When they're at home in Hasetsu, they usually spend their evenings like this: Viktor sitting on the far left of their old, comfortable sofa, Yuuri sprawled on his side, his head resting on Viktor's lap and Viktor idly playing with his silky raven hair.

Tonight, Viktor can barely keep himself from fidgeting. He hasn't been focusing on the movie at all, just humming approvingly whenever Yuuri comments on it. His thoughts, even though they're with Yuuri, are elsewhere entirely.

Of course he had enquired about the doctor's appointment the moment Viktor stepped through the door. Instead of telling him the truth, he had forced a broad smile on his face and lied about his fatigue only being a result of him overworking himself during the last skating season. Yuuri didn't even show the slightest sign of disbelief. It didn't make lying to him any easier.

He isn't suspicious now, either. Instead, he moves around so he can look up at Viktor from his lap. "Oh, really? Yuri's coming for a visit? Well... That's nice. We haven't had a chance to catch up for quite some time."

Viktor nods, trying not to seem too eager. "I invited him to stay with us," he says nonchalantly. "That's okay with you, right?"

"Of course." Yuuri smiles. "You don't have to pretend he's nothing but a nuisance, you know? At least not to me. I like him, too. He might be brash and rude, but his heart is in the right place. I'm actually looking forward to seeing him again. It's really been too long."

Viktor clenches his teeth at Yuuri's words. Well, this is what you wanted, he things to himself, snide. He wanted Yuri to come to Japan, live with them, grow closer to Yuuri. Closer and closer, until...

Unconsciously, he starts to fidget. He doesn't notice until Yuuri puts his hands on his knee and looks up at him again. "Are you okay, Vitechka?"

Yuuri calling him his old nickname somehow feels like a warm, comforting blanket. It's safe. Familiar. And it helps Viktor actually let got of some of the tension that had built inside of him.

He nods. "Yeah, I'm okay." He resumes brushing Yuuri's silky strands with his fingers and feels his younger lover melt into his touch. "Just a little tired. Maybe I should just go to bed early tonight."

Yuuri watches him for a moment, then sits up and reaches for the remote to stop the movie. "Let's go together, then," he says, smiling. "I can definitely use a good night's rest, too." His smile grows impossibly wider. "Let's face it, Vitechka, we're turning into gross old men."

With a snort, Viktor gets up from the couch and tries to ignore the slightly jittery feeling in his thighs. "Speak for yourself," he mutters, but he laughs with him too, even something in his chest is crumbling and he feels a burning sensation behind his eyes.

Yuuri takes Viktor's hand and tugs him closer. The familiar scent of lemon, sandalwood and something _distinctively Yuuri_ invades his senses. It never ceased to make Viktor's mind foggy with want, even after all these years, and he gives in to the sudden urge to bury his face in the Yuuri's hair.

He feels the slight sting of approaching tears and closes his eyes and tries to think of nothing. But he cannot stop the pictures of Yuuri and himself as old men from surfacing in front of his inner eye, wrinkled and weathered. Yuuri's knees are knobby, his tummy soft and squishy, but - oh God! - he's still so beautiful. And when he looks up at Viktor with love and adoration in his eyes, Viktor feels his tears finally spilling over and running down his cheeks, wetting the crown of Yuuri's hair.

"I love you," Yuuri whispers, oblivious to his lover's inner turmoil. "I will love you forever, even when you're a gross old man."

Viktor almost chokes on a sob, and he has to force it down, violently. He can't say it back. Not now. Not when he's vulnerable like this.

Because, _of course_ he will love Yuuri forever, with all his heart.

It's just that his forever is going to be much shorter than either of them expected.

* * *

A storm is coming. Viktor can feel it like a low electric tingle on his skin; can smell the faint metallic stench of ozone hanging heavy in the air. It's making him restless. He's tossing and turning on his side of the bed, bunching up the sheets in the process.

But the tension he feels isn't caused by the sudden change of weather alone. It's everything. This whole fucked-up situation he has to deal with, is weighing down on him like a rock. And he's starting to overthink things.

What if he's wrong? What if this whole stupid plan is just one big mistake?

There's still time to make things right. He can still tell Yuuri. Can do it right now. Shake him awake and tell him to his face, bleary from sleep, that their days as a couple are numbered. That he, Viktor, will do exactly what he always promised him he'd never do:

Leave him behind.

Not that Viktor has much of a choice - or any at all. Live every day of your life as if it were the last - trite but true. Unfortunately, you never really allow for the very realistic possibility settle in your brain. Dying is for _old_ people. Sick people, unfortunate souls who have some metaphysical score to settle or just a very messed up karma.

Except maybe that's what it all comes down to in the end.

Meeting Yuuri was probably - no, with absolute _certainty_ the very best thing that ever happened to him. And he always wondered, in a way, just for how long this iinsane/i happiness was going to last. He wondered when the fuck he'd started sounding like the old ibabushka/i that used to sit in front of the _Kopeyka_ , blathering about the good old days to everyone who would listen to her. All he could think now, another truism, was how nothing in life comes for free.

And now he's been presented with the bill.

Suddenly, Yuuri starts to stir next to him; his beautiful face contorted into a frown. He's thrashing around now, throwing off the sheets he's been curled into. His hands are reaching out, his fingers clenching, opening, clenching. A quiet whimper of distress leaves his throat and Viktor can't take it. It's too much, and he can feel tears burn in the back of his eyes.

Gently, he cups Yuuri's face, strokes his soft cheeks with his thumbs. "Yuuri," he whispers. "Yuuri, it's alright. You're safe. I will keep you safe …"

Viktor doesn't know if it's the sound of his voice that does it, but Yuuri's eyes fly open all of a sudden, and before he's even realizing what's happening, he's all but crawling into Viktor's lap. Little hiccups are sending tremors down his body, Viktor can feel them. Yuuri's pressing closer, impossibly closer, like he wants to crawl into Viktor, become a part of him; become one.

Unsure what else to do, Viktor strokes his hair, massages the little bumps beneath the skin with his fingertips. Suddenly, the quiet of the night is disturbed by the plitter-platter of rain falling onto the roof of their apartment-building.

Yuuri lets out a shaky breath, an apologetic half-smile on his lips that doesn't meet his eyes when he looks up at Viktor. "Just a bad dream," he explains, his voice a little hoarse and his eyes a little too shiny to conceal how deeply shaken he still is.

It feels like Viktor's heart is squeezed together by a iron fist. He loves this man. He loves him more than he could ever put into words. Yuuri is his everything, and the worst thing is that he knows his feelings are reciprocated. They're like the tides and the moon - one simply cannot exist without the other. And he can't help but wonder what will happen, once one of them is irrevocably gone.

Cupping Yuuri's face with his hands, he tilts his head just a fraction, so he can brush his lips over Yuuri's. It's just that for a moment. The soft press of lips. Breaths hitched in tight throats. Until suddenly, it's not anymore, and turns into something else. Something needier, with a sharp edge of desperation

Viktor wants this. He really does. He can't find words for how Yuuri makes him feel. Love doesn't even begin to capture it. Sometimes it's like they're one. Like they they share a body and a brain. Particularly, when they're close like this.

But not tonight.

He doesn't comprehend it at first, why he feels so detached. It's never been like that between them. But suddenly there's this barrier, and while it's nothing physical, Viktor just can't make it over, no matter how hard he tries.

And Yuuri notices.

Of course he does.

Contrary to Viktor, who always had problems understanding other people's feelings, Yuuri is a very empathetic man. And when he senses the slight shift in atmosphere, he pulls a stop on everything.

"Vitechka, what's wrong?" he asks, worry making his brown eyes shine, and it almost breaks Viktor's heart.

He wants to pull his hair out. This isn't fair. This isn't okay. This is greatest fucking mess he's ever been in, and he's fucked up plenty in the last three decades of his life. But now, for once, he wants to do something that isn't selfish. And he can't even do that?

The smile make his facial muscles strain. It's a shaky thing, the fragile construct of his composure held together with spit and sticky tape. "Nothing," he forces out through numb lips. "I'm fine."

I'm fine.

Fucking fantastic.

The mood is gone, they lie down again, Yuuri pushing up against him, his head resting on Viktor's chest. They always fall asleep like this. During the night they drift apart, hogging blankets and bending in awkward angles. But the moments before exhaustion takes its toll, it's always this.

Viktor loves it. Loves the weight of Yuuri's head, the closeness. Tonight, though, he wishes for the first time for their positions to be reversed. Only to be able to listen to Yuuri's heartbeat. To let it lull him into a sweet, forgetful slumber.

Because he already knows, he's in for a sleepless night.

* * *

The arrival lounge of Fukuoka Airport is packed with people, but Viktor spots Yuri immediately. His hair is longer than it used to be, he wears it in a side-braid over his right shoulder, the golden blond shining like a beacon in the sea of black and brown.

He hasn't grown much since Viktor last saw him, two years ago. That was before he'd had to give up skating. Before that stupid training accident that had shattered his knee and left him unfit for further competition.

Viktor feels a little bad for not being there for him after shit hit the fan. They kept in touch, over email and Skype, and he knew Yuri well enough to know, he wouldn't want to be pitied or babied. But there's a difference between offering pity and comfort, and Yuri might not know it yet, but Viktor does, now.

He looks tired, the dark bags make his bright green eyes look smaller than they are. And he's so thin, it's almost painful.

Did no one take care of him back at home in Russia? Viktor had assumed that Yakov did. Or Lilia maybe. But he should've known better. Where he comes from, you either suck it up and pull through or you go under. And Yuri has gone through the same school he, Viktor, did. No whining. No excuses. No regrets.

Looking at Yuri now - seeing him like this - makes Viktor realize how hard it has been on him. And he shouldn't be surprised. Skating had been his life from a very young age. Viktor doubts, he's ever spend a single thought on what his future should look like, once his career is over.

Viktor, sure enough, didn't. He's been lucky that things worked out the way they did for him.

Well, at least until a week and a half ago.

He takes a deep breath and walks up to Yuri, who is standing with his back towards him. When Viktor wraps his arms around Yuri's middle from behind, he yelps and tries to push him away. But Viktor doesn't budge. He needs this just as much as he knows Yuri does, even though the younger man would never admit it out loud.

It shows in the way he eases into Viktor's embrace once he's figured out it's him.

"Oi, old man," he snarls, but his voice doesn't hold its usual bite. "What do you think you're doing? Damn, Katsudon really turned you into a fucking sap!"

"I guess he did." Viktor smiles, even though Yuri can't see it.

It's nice, this.

Being close to someone he cares about. He can't have it with Yuuri at the moment. He just … he can't. It's too painful and he's too scared that Yuuri will figure him out if he opens up to him even a little but. But with Yuri it's different. It's easy and comfortable, and what would he give to just stay here like this for the rest of the night. He's got to pull himself together, though, and soon. Yuri might not be able to see through him like Yuuri does, but he's not stupid either. He can see the signs and put two and two together just fine.

So, with a small sigh, Viktor lets go of him.

And it's a good thing he does, because Yuri is scanning him with this weirdly intense look of his. Somehow, Viktor manages not to squirm, and he thinks he deserves a goddamn Oscar for the accomplishment. In the end Yuri just shrugs and Viktor is so relieved for a second, he almost forgets to breathe.

But the moment only lasts until he remembers his plan. As soon as he does, his blood runs cold and a heavy weight settles in his stomach. Turning around abruptly, he grabs the handle of Yuri's leo-patterned trolley case. He pretends he's just leading the way to the car park, but the truth is, he's running. The thought of looking Yuri in the eyes, of meeting his probing gaze, is more than he can handle right now.

They step through the automatic glass doors of the arrivals lounge into the golden-red of the setting sun. The buildings on the other side of the street are low, and the sky stretching over them seems to be burning in red and fiery magenta, the edges blurring into pale pinks and purples, smudged with dirty grey.

He hears a small sniff behind him and automatically jerks his head in the direction. From the corner of his eye he can see Yuri wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand.

Viktor chooses not to ask or comment on it. For once, because he knows Yuri wouldn't appreciate him witnessing a moment of weakness. On the other hand he doesn't really know what to say, anyway.

When they reach the car, Viktor opens the trunk and throws Yuri's case inside.

"Fuck! Be a little careful, goddammit. Forgot that not all our lives are as fucking perfect as yours?"

Viktor flinches. Visibly. There's no way Yuri hasn't noticed. But he seems to return Viktor's favor from before and doesn't say a thing, Just shrugs and climbs into the car, muttering under his breath what a "fucking waste of money" this car is, and that it's "not gonna make anyone jump his half-dead geezer-bones", anyway.

More like three-quarters-dead, Viktor thinks to himself and slides behind the wheel.

He's not looking forward to the one-hour-ride home one bit.

But he's dreading what comes after - what he will have to do - even more.

Clenching his teeth, he jams the key into the ignition.

"Yuuri's been looking forward to having you around again," he tells Yuri, a fake smile adorning his lips. "In fact hasn't shut up about you, ever since I told him you were gonna come visit us."

He turns the key and the engine roars to life with a resounding roar - Viktor thinks it sounds like fate laughing at him, and it makes him want to scream. But in the end he just slams in the first gear and fights the urge to speed off with burning wheels.


	3. Chapter Three

It sucked.

It sucked fucking big time.

Yuri tried to adjust the passenger's seat of Viktor's useless expensive as fuck car into a reclining position, but there were so many levers and switches, he didn't know which one to use. And since he wasn't going to ask fucking Viktor for help, he huffed an annoyed breath and tried to curl up on the seat the best he could and relax.

But - dammit! - after sitting in a sardine can of a plane for hours, his fucking knee hurt like a bitch. It left him bone-deep tired but still restless. So sleeping was actually out of the question. The best thing he could hope for was to rest his eyes some and maybe calm down a little, so he would be able to find some proper rest later, when they arrived at Viktor and Yuuri's place.

On the radio they played some god-awful pop-shit Yuri usually wouldn't even listen to if he got paid for it. The lyrics were in Japanese, of fucking course, so it would have been hard for Yuri to follow them even had he not been completely out of it.

Which he was. Utterly and thoroughly so.

He tried to move into a more comfortable position, and a sharp lance of pain stabbed through his knee and his whole upper leg went tense. Cursing under his breath, he punched his thigh with a clenched fist. Again. And again. But the muscle refused to loosen up, and he felt tears prickling in the corners of his eyes because it

just!  
(punch)

wouldn't!  
(punch)

let!  
(punch)

up!  
(punch)

He couldn't hold back the vicious snarl that ripped free from his throat, when a hand gripped his wrist and stopped him from hitting his thigh again and again and again. Refusing to meet Viktor's eyes, he averted his gaze to the window. He didn't want to talk about it. Not now, not with him.

Thankfully, Viktor seemed to respect that. At least for now. And it struck Yuri as weird that he did. It just wasn't like him, not to push and press for answers. The Viktor he remembered didn't know boundaries, nor did he understand the concept of privacy.

Had he really changed that much since they last met?

But no, he didn't really change - he just got slower.

"It's been what … two and a half years? Three, since the accident. Shouldn't it have stopped hurting that badly by now?"

Yuri stiffened but otherwise refused to even acknowledge the question.

He had had that particular conversation more times than he cared to remember. You should go see a specialist, Yura. There's a realistic chance that they'll be able to fix your knee, Yura. You might even be able to skate again, Yura.

Yadda, yadda, yadda …

They just wouldn't shut the fuck up about it. Mila. Georgi. Yakov. Lilia. It made Yuri want to rip his hair out. Why couldn't they just leave it alone? It was his knee. His life. His career. If he wanted to lie down and lick his wounds in peace, why couldn't they just let him be?

Had it not been for Beka, Yuri would've lost his fucking mind. He was the one person who he knew would always have his back. Who never pried. Who accepted every decision Yuri made, whether he thought it good or stupid.

Yuri's rock.

Or so he believed.

"Yuri? Yurochka ..."

"Leave me alone, old man," he rasped, still staring out of the window.

"No, it's not about that. I'm sorry, I overstepped your bounds. I shouldn't have pried, but … We're here, Yura. This is Yuuri's and my place."

Yuri blinked. He hadn't even realized the car had stopped moving. "Okay," he said, unbuckling his seatbelt, pushing the door open and carefully hauling his still throbbing leg over the step.

Okay, he repeats to himself. He could do this. He was here to take his mind off the things that had been haunting him for the last couple months, after all.

And he would do exactly that.

The apartment was small and cozy, and completely different from Viktor's Saint Petersburg condo with all of its hard shapes and cool stylishness. This, Yuri thought, was a home. It was a place to come back to and feel like you belong or some sappy shit like that. And he was ready to bet his meagre savings that this was all the Katsudon's doing.

Just like the mouthwatering wafts of frying pork and vegetables coming from the open kitchen area.

And there, in front of the stove, a pink and white chequered apron tied in a double bow around his waist, he stood; a wide smile almost splitting his face in half when he turned around to face Viktor and Yuri. Katsuki dropped the wooden spoon he'd used to stir the dish he was cooking and practically lunged at Yuri, hugging him to his chest.

Yuri stiffened. He wasn't used to being touched so casually. Most people, he managed to scare away with his trademark scowl or, if that one didn't help, a few choice swear - thank fuck! - wasn't a very tactile person and neither was Lilia; the former giving him the occasional pat on the back, the latter pushing his leg up brutally when he was doing a what she considered sloppy arabesque.

Georgi knew better than to just overstep his boundaries. Something Mila could have never been bothered with. But the hag was married now, already having a bun in the oven after barely one and a half months, busy with her own life.

It had been ages since anyone had touched him like that before today. And now it happened for the second time in the course of only a couple hours, and he didn't quite know how to handle it. How to handle all this attention.

After a moment, he relaxed into the embrace and patted Katsuki's back, albeit awkwardly. Trying not to think too hard about how his sixteen-year-old self would've probably combusted being exposed to the same treatment. And not because he hated Katsuki so much.

Quite the contrary, if he was being brutally honest.

With a low snarl he untangled his limbs from the other man. "Oi, Katsudon, what the fuck? Is the old man not getting it up anymore, that you have to jump my bones the second I step into the room?"

Katsuki blushed, but where he once would've probably bowed his head in shame and uttered an apology, he just grinned at Yuri. "Still as cranky as you used to be, I see." He scrutinized Yuri, and his smile faded. "You look exhausted. Come, I'll show you to your room. You can rest now and I will reheat dinner for you later - or are you terribly hungry?"

Yuri shook his head. Even though whatever Katsuki was preparing smelled heavenly, the notion of actually having to eat something wasn't appealing at all. His stomach was still in knots from when he'd tried to contact Otabek on the phone, right before he went to board his flight. And already he was itching to try again. Although he was pretty sure Beka wasn't going to pick up, anyway.

He had said he needed space.

So space Yuri would give him. Even though it felt like the hardest thing he'd ever done in his life.

* * *

Yuri's eyes flew open, he scrambled into a sitting position and rasped: "No, please Beka, I …"

He fell silent, when he realized, this wasn't his apartment back home in Saint Petersburg. And it wasn't Beka's either. It took him a moment to remember where he was - and why.

Stripes of yellow sunlight filtered through the shutters in front of the windows, and cast the room in an eerie play of lights and shadows. The furnishing was sparse, just the bed, a simple white closet, a desk and a chair. Not that he needed more.

With a deep sigh, Yuri dropped back onto the pillow and stared at the ceiling. Not that there was anything particularly interesting to see. The boring white paint was slightly chipped and it reminded him of that one time Beka had …

No!

He bit on his bottom lip until he could taste something slightly coppery on his tongue. He had come here because staying at his own apartment had almost driven him crazy, with all the memories the place held. The little things, like the second toothbrush - a lime green one - in the mug on his vanity. The way his books were sorted not in alphabetical or chronological order, but after the color of their spines. How his pillow smelled of Beka, even after washing the covers more times than he wanted to count. Only to have half a breakdown over finding out it was the scent of the laundry detergent he'd been using for years that reminded him of Otabek.

Everything did.

And Yuri just couldn't stand it anymore. So he'd booked the cheapest flight to Japan he could find and called Viktor (in that particular order, because Yuri knew Viktor was a complete retard, but he would never refuse him, no matter what).

And here he was now - and wasn't it the fucking irony of his life that he'd flown across half the globe and his conscience still wouldn't give him a fucking break for even one goddamn day?

Growling, he slid from the mattress, forgetting about his knee - again! - which promptly gave out from under him and made him tumble in a very undignified and ungraceful heap on the floor.

God, how he hated this!

He didn't exactly feel like a joyous ray of sunshine when he left the room, and apparently it showed too, since Viktor snapped the lid of his laptop shut as soon as Yuri had spat a "Morning" in his general direction. He'd seemed pretty engrossed in whatever it was he'd been doing, and now he almost looked … guilty.

Weird. But then, Viktor was a weird person, so it shouldn't come as a surprise.

Said weirdo leapt to his feet, swaying a little, before pasting a positively saccharine smile on his lips. It was as fake as Yuri had ever seen anyone smile and it made him want to vomit. He'd had enough pretended kindness in the year since his accident to last for a lifetime. He didn't need Viktor Nikiforov, of all people, to give him this shit, too.

"Where's the Katsudon?"

"Yuuri has a children's class to teach on Saturday mornings, but he should be back any moment."

Yuri gave a curt nod before stalking into the kitchen. His knee wasn't bothering him as much as it did the night before, but he still hated how his gait felt kind of stilted and awkward and generally just not him anymore. There was some tar-like residue in the coffeepot, so he banged through the wall cabinets in search of a mug to fix himself some desperately needed caffeine.

"Try the tall cupboard on the left." Viktor was leaning against the door frame, watching him with a tiny but somehow forced looking smile.

Muttering under his breath he fetched himself a mug and filled it with the steaming, thick black liquid. The clattering of keys in the hallway announced Katsuki's return home, but Viktor seemed to either not notice or not care, because he chose that exact moment to say: "So, I was wondering … Do you still have that ginormous crush on Yuuri you used to have when you were fifteen?"

Katsuki appeared next to his husband, all wide-eyed and surprised. "You … had a crush on me?"

Yuri froze. His heart was pounding and he could feel the blood rising to his face. He resisted the urge to throw the cup onto the floor, but it was a close call. Instead, he made do with slamming it onto the kitchen counter with enough force to make the black sludge spill over the brim and burn the back of his hand.

His gaze rooted to the floor, he then pushed past Viktor and Yuuri, and went into his room, banging the door shut behind him.

Whatever made him think it was a good idea to visit Viktor of all people? That guy was such a fucking arse!

Violently, he fought down the overwhelming need to see Beka.

No! He wouldn't beg. He needed no one.

Wiping his eyes furiously, he pulled his suitcase from where he had put it next to the closet, and threw in the few clothes and toiletries he'd taken out since last night.

Viktor fucking Nikiforov could go fuck himself for all he cared. Yuri wasn't going to expose himself to his cruel little mind games any longer. He had more self-respect than that.

But then, did he really?


End file.
